When a person turns thirty-years-old, the idea of being a “young person” has pretty much gone away. You’ve passed the milestones of adulthood: you are old enough to drive, old enough to drink, old enough to get drafted (if that ever came about), and old enough to rent a car — which has become something of a 21st century right of passage at the age of 25.

But once you are 30; you’re an adult and there isn’t much left that’s off limits to you — except maybe an AARP membership — and that’s nothing I’ll look forward to. By this time, it’s assumed that you’ve got your life together and are past the entry-level jobs, have some sort of meaningful relationship, and are well on your way to personal success and happiness.

For me, I’ll remember my 30th year on planet Earth to be something of an interesting and strange year — one that became a perfect example of serendipity in motion.